


A Moment to Themselves

by Leseparatist



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Frottage, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3638529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leseparatist/pseuds/Leseparatist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to DA:I kink_meme request located here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html.</p><p>The request was basically "Cullen grinding away against Inquisitor's ass. No actual sex takes place. Clothing optional." </p><p>And that's pretty much what happens in this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment to Themselves

At first, she tells herself she is being ridiculous, but it’s not paranoia if he is really looking at you in that way.

He is subtle about it, admittedly, subtle enough that it takes her a long time to be sure. There are no leers, no hastily turned looks, no awkward moments. Yet, Commander Cullen is clearly paying attention not just to what she says, but to _her_. She probably ought to be embarrassed, but she is mostly flattered and just a little bit curious. It’s been a long time since she had time to properly flirt with anyone, much else do anything more, and so she indulges in a little harmless fantasy now and again. Imagines finding the boldness to encourage him, maybe even urge him on. Only a little, see, just some fun, nothing serious.

It makes for more interesting war room meetings, that’s for sure; it becomes a challenge for her to keep the knowledge to herself, not to let herself slip by returning his gaze, or by her voice rising when he leans close to her to point something out on the map, when their thighs almost graze as he stands close to her. Not to let her breath hitch when he touches her hand briefly, yet—she knows that now—not quite innocently.

She isn’t sure about Josephine, but Leliana probably knew before Trevelyan did, and that awareness only makes it worse, it is that awareness that finally makes her stumble, that and the low timbre of his voice as he says something—she can’t even remember what, afterwards—that might be misconstrued and she makes the tiniest of gasps, a gasp that might even have been forgivable, explainable, if she didn’t follow it by blushing, deeply, heatedly.

They don’t say anything, of course, but the meeting finishes soon afterwards, with Leliana excusing herself, Cullen leaving with her, as if on cue, and Josephine lingering a few seconds, talking to her about something inane that Trevelyan can’t even pretend to care about.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” she finally tells Josie, “I just want to take another look at something on the map.”

What she wants is not to show her face for a moment, to stay here, hidden from the world.

*~*

He knows it’s a bad idea from the very beginning. It doesn’t take a genius, see, to appreciate the inherent awkwardness of wanting to fuck your boss. He is entirely to blame for this: she never flirts with him, like he has seen her flirt with some others, giving him no indication that his attention would be welcome, no encouragement. That actually makes things better—safer, a fantasy never to be realised but one he can’t stop himself from developing further and further. Soon he only ever touches himself to thoughts of her: of her breasts heavy in his palms, her mouth around his cock, her legs spread for him as he fucks her from behind.

And then the Inquisitor does the worst thing she could under the circumstances and gives him an indication that his interest is being reciprocated—worse yet, noticed.

He tells himself he definitely should not act on what he has been made aware of, but he knows it’s useless. He could still be wrong; perhaps she was merely distracted and that becoming blush had nothing to do with him. Perhaps he is only seeing what he wants to see.

He is arguing about this with himself, an exercise in futility if there ever was one, when he returns to the war room to pick up some papers he accidentally left behind. Josephine gives him a look and tells him the Inquisitor is still inside.

“She probably wanted a moment to herself,” Josie says, primly.

“I’ll just be in and out,” he says, a part of him already suspecting that he is telling a lie.

If he had any doubts left, they are dispelled when she sees him and blushes again, caught out, unprepared and defenceless but for the table that separates them.

“I was— I was just about to leave,” she finally says, avoiding his gaze.

“Were you?” he asks, stepping forward, closer to her, making his way around the table. “It’s actually fortunate that you are here, as there is something else I’ve been meaning to ask you, Inquisitor,” he says, pointing to the map. “If you could take a look at the situation in the Crestwood—”

He stands behind her, as though to guide her gaze or hand, but close enough to feel the heat coming off her body. He speaks right into her ear, quietly, letting his breath tickle her.

“There have been some reports of darkspawn activity, right— here—”

She gasps audibly, a final confirmation of his suspicions, a change—a commencement—of his plans. He is half-hard in his breeches already, with the smell and sight of her. She wants him, and he cannot wait any more, he must, he will have her.

“Unless there is something else we should shift our attention to,” he says, letting his voice drop; he is fully aware of the effect that can have, has had on other women in the past.

*~*

She nods. She cannot trust her voice yet, her throat feels dry and constricted. She feels his hand sneak around her from behind, finding the hooks of her coat.

“I’ve been thinking about bending you over this table for quite some time now,” he says as he undoes them slowly, one after another. His fingers touch her through her shift, circling first one nipple and then the other, but never quite touching where she wants him the most.

“The door isn’t locked,” she says, breathlessly.

“I know,” he replies. “Would you like me to stop?”

She shakes her head. He gives her a delicate pinch.

“What was that?” he asks, pressing against her now, his erection hard against the small of her back, the shape distinct in spite of his breeches and her clothes separating them.

“I don’t—want you—to stop,” she manages, and then, to make her meaning plain, she rubs herself against him.

She isn’t sure if she is more surprised with herself or with him, but there is no going back now, no stopping, not even to latch the door. She prays Josephine won’t get it into her head to check what is taking them so long.

Not that it is taking them that long anyway. She puts her hands and elbows flat on the table, pushing her ass up, and he pulls her smallclothes down, surprisingly delicately for the size of his hands, and pushes a finger inside her. She is wet, almost surprisingly so, for the short time he’s been touching her, and his finger is not enough. She makes a soft, keening noise and he kisses the back of her neck in response.

“I’ve imagined fucking you on this table,” he says, returning to the subject as though she’d never interrupted him. “Your legs spread wide for me, your moans so loud I’d have to cover your mouth with my hand so no one could hear. I’ve imagined fucking you slowly at first, driving you crazy with desire, and then pushing you against the wall, your legs around my hips, fucking you fast and hard.”

He has stopped fucking her with his finger, and instead she can hear him rustling with his clothes, unlacing his breeches but never taking them off, just tugging them down to release his cock, hot and hard against her. She rubs herself against him again.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says. “Please, Commander. I need—I need you _inside me_ , now.”

*~*

Cullen can barely resist doing what she asks then and there. The idea of being inside her, so wet and tight, makes him groan, but there is something else he’s been thinking about, fantasising about as she’d walked around in those hip-hugging cloaks.

“Not yet,” he says, stroking her ass, perfectly round but hard with muscle from all the horseback riding. She makes to spread her legs, and he uses that to take some of her wetness and spread it between her buttocks, causing her to gasp, uncertainly.

“I won’t fuck your cunt,” he says, “or your ass, or even your mouth—today. I have something else in mind for the beginning,” he continues. “Hold steady,” he adds, nudging her legs closer together.

It takes him a few seconds to find the right angle, to align his cock with the cleft of her buttocks, slicked with her own wetness. It is not the most sensitive place for her, but he can’t quite care, and judging from the sounds she continues to make, neither does she.

He is grinding against her, and it is everything he has ever imagined. She finds it difficult to remain in place, and so he has to push against her, holding onto her hip with one hand, his other finding her breast again. His weight pins her in place and he speeds up, almost desperate for his release now.

“Just like this,” he praises her when she moans once more. Her nipple is hard as a pebble, and the tight ring of muscles in her ass seems to be pulsing now together with her cunt.

“Please, Commander,” she says, and her words send him over the edge. He is momentarily blinded as with one final groan he comes between her buttocks, his seed staining her clothes, the sensation making his ears pop.

But she is not done, and so she rubs herself against him again, and it is almost enough to make him hard the second time when she reaches behind to touch the come and then brings the fingers to her mouth.

“Lick them,” he instructs her.

She does, without hesitation, while he reaches between her legs to start stroking her clit with one hand, the other holding her breast.

“Yes, more.” She sounds breathless and almost desperate. She is so wet that his fingers make a sound as he pushes and strokes. “Maker, yes, yes, please, _please_ ,” she repeats, and he pushes down harder, pinching her nipple until she keens and buckles, her legs almost giving out under her as she finally comes, for a long time, spasming against his palm.

It takes them a long time before they are presentable enough to leave the war room, and once they do, Josephine avoids their eyes, pretending to be engrossed in some letter in front of her. They make quick excuses and go, but before Cullen pushes open the door leading to the main hall, Trevelyan grabs his arm.

“Cullen? I—I want you really inside me, next time,” she says, and takes off in a quick march.

Truth be told, he can hardly wait.


End file.
